Yaqui Delgado Wants to Kick Your Ass

by Meg Medina

  My essay has been taken.

  “Clear the halls,” someone barks.

  I watch everyone’s eyes at lunch, especially Yaqui’s table. I don’t say a word to anyone.

  “What is your problem?” Darlene asks. I haven’t told her what my essay said. “You have your period or something?”

  I throw away my food uneaten and wait in silence for the stairwell doors to open. That’s when the kids from in-school suspension will get walked through the lunch line with their teacher on duty. Maybe I’ll be able to see from Yaqui’s face if she knows what I’ve written.

  Rob slides in next to me.

  Darlene glares. “Oh, good. It’s Rob.”

  “Shut up,” I tell her.

  Darlene looks surprised, but she shrugs and takes a swig of her water.

  Just then the door swings open, and the parade of detention kids begins. They’re trailing Coach Malone, who looks about as enthused for this duty as he does for faculty meetings. There are only four kids with him today, three guys and Yaqui. I swear all that’s missing are the ankle shackles. I pretend to reach for my binder, but my eyes are glued to Yaqui as she struts forward.

  “Ya-qui,” someone shouts from her table. It’s Alfredo. A catcall goes up.

  She grins, even when Coach Malone gives her a warning look. As they go through the line, I watch Yaqui and the others grab their sporks and napkins.

  When Yaqui finally steps out into the cafateria, she looks around the cafeteria. Her eyes go steely when she catches me staring, but I can’t tell if she knows something or if that’s her normal hateful look. The sight of her sears itself into my imagination. Even after she and the others are gone, my eyes still see her.

  A few minutes later, the bell finally rings. Rob starts to follow me.

  “Piddy,” he calls, trying to catch up as I reach the stairs. I grit my teeth and pretend I don’t hear him. I just can’t bring myself to be nice to anyone right now. Only two more hours and I can get out of here. I just want school to be over. I want to be home.

  But Rob is determined. I’m halfway up the steps when he catches my elbow.

  “Piddy. I want to tell you something.”

  I whip around, suddenly irritated. His pinched face is more than I can stand. He looks weak and loathsome. He’s everything I don’t want to be.

  “Look, Rob, nothing personal. I just really want to be left alone.”

  He turns bright red and swallows hard. “But —”

  “Please go away.” I start to go, but he reaches for my hand.

  “Stop it!” I snatch back my hand and even give him a little shove. “Can’t you take a hint!” I don’t know which one of us is more surprised. Then his face darkens and he drops something at my feet before hurrying off.

  When I look down, my knees go a little weak, and I’m filled with shame as I pick it up. It’s my essay, folded neatly into a little square. The top corners are torn, but otherwise it’s all here. He must have known and taken it down.

  Now who’s the jerk?

  Rob is already on the next landing as the warning bell sounds.

  “Hey!” I shout, running after him. “Come back!” But it’s too late. Rob has activated his personal force field against attack, and I can’t get through.

  I tear the essay to bits and head off, late once again.

  “It never pays to owe anybody anything,” Ma always says. Now I see she’s right.

  I check the address on the building doors against the slip of paper Darlene gave me. I’d hoped she might have a heart and forget the deal we made when she filched Yaqui’s schedule for me. I should have known better. She caught up with me yesterday, after Ms. O’Donnell announced our unit test on vectors.

  “We had a deal,” she said when I tried to get out of it. “My house — tomorrow. Here’s the address.”

  Her building still has its name in gold letters over the entrance: THE GLEN ORA. It has a slate walkway, a mirrored lobby, and a porter who actually remembers to clip the shrubs and sweep away cigarette butts. It must have been a luxury building once. They still have doctors’ offices on the first floor and everything. Still, it hasn’t been totally spared. Faded graffiti shows through the painted walls under the intercom.

  As soon as I step off the elevator on the sixth floor, I find Darlene waiting for me at her apartment door. She looks at her watch to remind me that I’m ten minutes late.

  “That’s Cleopatra,” she says, leading me inside. “She’s sixteen.” An old tabby growls at me from the sofa. You can see every bone on its spine. Darlene heads down the hall. “This way.”

  Her bedroom is small but nice. All the furniture matches, and the carpet still smells new. Naturally, she has a collection of trophies and laminated award certificates going back to grade school. Her desk is by a large window overlooking the street. From way up here, the parked cars and trees look organized, planned. The air is quiet.

  Darlene flops down on her bed, where her physics textbook is open.

  “I despise Ms. O’Donnell,” she says. “She’s the worst teacher I’ve ever had.” Darlene holds up the most recent quiz; a red 72 is circled. She picks up the book and reads the first question aloud.

  “A roller coaster named the Steel Dragon starts with an initial velocity of three meters per second at the top of a large rise and attains a velocity of forty-two point nine meters per second when it reaches the bottom. If the roller coaster were to start at the bottom of the rise, what would its velocity be at the top? Friction is negligible.” She looks up at me in disgust. “Seriously. Who even cares?”

  “Not me.”

  “Do you have the answers?” she asks.

  I dig into my pocket for my homework and hand it over. “I worked them out last night.”

  Darlene raises her eyebrows and giggles as she scans my answers. “I’ll change the words so they don’t look exactly the same.”

  “Not so fast,” I say, snatching them back. Nothing would make me happier than to get out of here. Still, I’m not the luckiest person, and this could go wrong in a big way. “I was supposed to help you study,” I say. “Not cheat.”

  “I am not a cheater.”

  I take a deep breath. “Okay, tell me this. What are you going to do if O’Donnell asks you to explain how you got the answer? Cheating is an honor-code violation or something, isn’t it?”

  “It’s a level-two offense,” she says importantly, but I can tell she’s reconsidering. I give her the clincher.

  “If we’re caught, you’ll lose your student-aide job and get stuck in study hall.”

  For the next hour, we plow through kinetic and potential energy, velocity, and gravity. It’s not easy. I have to keep reminding her that what she calls “common sense” is not compatible with scientific logic.

  “Look,” I tell her. “Forget what you think should happen. The real world doesn’t work that way.” We work on the laws of gravity again. When we’re finally through, she leans back.

  “Not bad.”

  “What?”

  “Your science skills. I assume you’ll apply to McCleary.”

  I stand up to get my coat. “What’s McCleary?”

  She rolls her eyes.

  “J. C. McCleary. I gave you the application, stupid. It’s the science magnet school for juniors and seniors. You get college credit while you’re still in high school. I hear they have good engineering programs, if you don’t mind the geeks. You might be smart enough to get in.” She considers me for a second. “Plus you have that Latina advantage for admission.”

  It would be nice to bash her skull right about now. “I don’t want to be an engineer,” I say.

  “Let me guess. You’re going to be a writer. Maybe join Ms. Shepherd’s stupid magazine.” Her lips curl down as she says it. I think she’s still sore about not being chosen as the managing editor. She actually looks hurt, although maybe it’s just Rob being chosen that’s killing her. With Darlene, pride is everything.

  “I’m not
joining the magazine,” I say.

  She nods thoughtfully. “I know — who’d want to be on her stupid editorial team? My God, Rob at the helm.”

  “It’s not that,” I say firmly.

  She grips her pillow and leans back on the bed. “Then, what are you doing after DJ?” When I don’t answer, she leans in. “My parents want me to study accounting at Hofstra”— she pretends to stick her finger down her throat —“but I’m going to run my own company. My aunt owns a purse company. I work in the office every summer. She says I’m a natural leader.”

  “Oh.” The thought of Darlene with unlimited authority is bone-chilling. “That makes sense.”

  “So? How about you?”

  I’ve never told anybody except Mitzi what I want to be, and I’m not inclined to tell Darlene. You can’t trust your dreams to just anybody, much less a terminal realist like her. “I want to study animals.” I stand up and grab up my coat.

  “You? A vet?”

  My eyes slide to Cleopatra, who found her perch on the windowsill a while ago. Her arthritic paws shake as she tries to wash her ears.

  “Sort of,” I say.

  She scoops up Cleopatra and walks me to the door. “Piedad Sanchez, veterinarian. I’ve heard crazier things.”

  “See ya, Darlene,” I say as I edge past her.

  “McCleary has biology, too,” she calls.

  I give her an icy look as the elevator door closes.

  I’m sweeping up hair at Salón Corazón on Saturday. Mountains and mountains of hair in every color. Gloria is running a shampoo, cut, and blow-dry special for twenty dollars during November, so the place is jammed. It seems like every Latina in Queens is trying to squeeze in an appointment before Turkey Day. Even Lila is having trouble keeping up. I wish Thanksgiving would get here already. It’s not just the food. I love Ma’s turkey, though I’m sure no Pilgrim ever ate it with a side of fried bananas like we do. The real treat will be four days without DJ. Maybe Mitzi will come over, if she ever calls me back.

  I’m crouched over the dustpan when Gloria taps me on the shoulder and whispers in my ear.

  “Friends of yours?”

  I follow her gaze through the plate-glass window to the sidewalk outside. A group of girls is sitting on the hood of a parked car. It’s Vanesa and the lunchroom Latinas. How do they know where I work? Then I remember what I was wearing in detention, and I realize Yaqui is smarter than she looks. She could have figured it out from my T-shirt easily enough. But why are these girls here now? This can’t be good.

  “They’ve been waiting for a while,” Gloria tells me as she fixes a fresh plate of cookies for the reception area. “You can go talk to your friends, but don’t be too long. We’re so busy today, mi vida.”

  “They’re not my friends.” My feet are rooted to the spot as I stare.

  “No? Then see if they want to come in. We can’t have them looking like vagrants out there. It’s bad for business.” She purses her lips. “That skinny one could use a new haircut, if you ask me.” The phone rings, and she turns to answer it. “Buenos días, Salón Corazón . . .”

  My hands grip the broom handle as I head for the door. Instinctively, my eyes dart along the street. Yaqui is nowhere, but Vanesa is motioning to me to come outside. She’s in a fake fur jacket, snapping gum.

  Fabio starts to run circles around my feet, and I have to push him away with my broom.

  “Not now,” I tell him, but as soon as I open the door, he darts out, anyway. He fixes the girls with his cloudy stare and starts to sniff at their feet carefully. Right now, I wish he were a Doberman or a Rottweiler — anything scarier than the annoying little ball of fur that he is.

  Once I’m outside, I stand in front of the window where people can see. I’ve got my broom held tight in case I have to crack somebody on the head, Lila-style.

  “What?” I say.

  Vanesa gets right to business.

  “Yaqui wants to fight,” she says.

  I try not to sound scared, even though my knees feel soft and my mouth is dry. “You’re her little messenger?”

  “Today,” Vanesa says, ignoring my question.

  “I’m not going to fight Yaqui,” I say. “Not today or ever. I haven’t done a thing to her.”

  Vanesa takes a step closer. “You think you’re all that, Miss Bitch? You think you’re so smart? You think you can shake your tight white ass for all the guys? Where’s your respect?”

  “Respect for who? Somebody who steals my stuff and throws milk cartons at me? Right. Tell her I’m not coming.”

  She laughs. “You scared?”

  “No. I’m working.” I motion at the obvious, and narrow my eyes to look mean. “It’s busy here today.”

  “Be at Bowne Park at six.”

  Bowne Park is up near Northern Boulevard, not too far from here — or from the Bland. When I was little, Ma would push me on the swings and hold down the seesaw on one side. I think of the alleys in between the buildings over there, how it’s starting to be dark around that time.

  “No.”

  “You don’t show up, she’s gonna find you anyway. And then she’ll put more pain on you for real.”

  Until now, Fabio has been on a simmering growl. Without warning, he erupts into loud yapping that lifts his stumpy front legs off the ground with each bark. His teeth are bared, but it just makes him look more ridiculous. Vanesa rolls her eyes.

  That’s when the bells on the door jangle and Lila steps outside. She wipes her hands on a towel, scoops up Fabio, and puts him inside. Then she steps close to Vanesa and me. She takes in Vanesa head to toe with an expression on her face I’ve never seen before.

  “Who’s this?” she asks without a smile.

  I don’t know how to answer. Part of me is panicking, and part of me is relieved.

  “Vanesa is just leaving.” I turn my back to the girls and talk over my shoulder. “Like I said, I’m busy today.”

  Vanesa’s eyes go from me to Lila.

  “See you another time, then,” she says. The other girls slide from the hood of the car and follow her across the street to the corner fruit stand. Lila holds her ground and watches.

  “You coming?” I hold open the door for her. “It’s cold.”

  But Lila doesn’t answer. She keeps her eyes on the group as they disappear around the block. She doesn’t even blink when Vanesa gives her the finger.

  “What’s going on, Piddy?” she asks.

  “Come on,” I say, hurrying inside. The phone is ringing like crazy. Hair is piling up everywhere.

  “Piddy, sweep up station two, por favor,” Gloria says.

  Lila is right behind me. She peers at the appointment book, but I can tell she’s thinking about my mystery visitors.

  “Who’s next on the list to get gorgeous?” she asks.

  Of course I don’t go to Bowne Park.

  After work, I’m still shaken up about Vanesa’s visit. I tell Lila my feet are too tired for walking and she agrees. She washed eighty heads today, a record. We pick up Korean food and head home on the bus.

  “So, you gonna tell me about those girls?” she asks me on the ride.

  I keep my eyes on the world going by us outside. “They’re just girls from school. They wanted me to meet them someplace, but I don’t like them. They’re jerks.”

  “No kidding,” she says. “Stay away from them.”

  “I’m trying.”

  When we get to her door, we find that an Avon shipment has arrived. It’s the merchandise to fill the orders from her party. The box is enormous, and she’ll need my help breaking it up.

  I watch the clock as we work to check each item against the forms and fill the plastic bags for each customer. Five o’clock: lipsticks and mascara for Amada Lopez down the street. Five ten: one body splash and earrings for Beba. Five twenty: skin-firming mask for Maria Estela. And on like that. The whole time, I keep wondering who is waiting for me at Bowne Park. What will they do when they realize I’m really not go
ing to show for our appointment?

  We work all the way until nine o’clock. Finally, Lila stretches her back and stares at the mess of bags and receipts all over the floor. Then she looks over at me.

  “You better go home and get some sleep, chica. You’re too young to look so tired,” she says. I glance out the window. It’s just a few stops up the road to our new place, but I’ve been worrying that Yaqui will be waiting for me.

  Lila joins me.

  “You know what?” she says quietly. “I need some fresh air, too. How about if I ride a few stops on the bus with you?”

  Relief washes through me as she kisses my shoulder and slips some new lipstick samples in my pocket.

  “If you want,” I whisper. “Thanks.”

  The living-room light is still on when I get home. Ma is upstairs, having nodded off in front of the TV. She’s braless in her housecoat, her lips hanging open. A plate of what’s left of fried eggs and white rice is sitting on a box nearby.

  I don’t wake her up. I put her dish in the sink and cover her up. Then I slip inside the bathroom and lock the door to think. It feels like anchors are weighing down on me. What am I going to do? It’s only a matter of time before I have to face Yaqui and her cronies.

  I run the water hot and strip off my clothes. Then I stare at myself long and hard in the mirror. I hate the slopes and curves; they’ve caused nothing but trouble. If having a body is so great, why has it made such a mess for me?